


Intertwined with My Urgency (It’s So New to Me)

by tlkdr (slimequeen)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alpha Richie Tozier, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Beta Stanley Uris, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, Dominant Top Richie Tozier, High School, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Eddie Kaspbrak, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Self-Lubrication, Teenage Losers Club (IT), Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimequeen/pseuds/tlkdr
Summary: His body’s been teetering on the edge all day, but it’s in the middle of the quickly emptying hallway that Eddie folds to the ground like a house of cards in the breeze, and Stanley and Ben  alarmedly look first at him and then each other. Eddie’s scent floats lush in the air, hot and heavy, and suddenly it’s absolutely obvious what’s wrong—his heat.(Or, Eddie’s heat comes early and Stan takes care of him until Richie gets there.)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	Intertwined with My Urgency (It’s So New to Me)

He wakes up shivering. It’s the first sign, it’s _always_ the first fucking sign, but Eddie’s tired from a day spent at the quarry soaking up the last of the summer sunshine, his limbs already strung out and achy from exertion, and in a momentary lapse of judgement, he dismisses the symptoms as fatigue and stumbles to the dresser, still half asleep.

It’s midway through September—definitely not yet cold enough to retire the shorts and so he fumbles with his dresser until he gets open the drawer with his hoodies and sweaters in it.

He pulls on the first sweater he gets his hands on—Richie’s, he realizes as the comforting scent of alpha washes over him and lulls him into an even deeper stupor. Then he staggers back towards his bed, falling into the sheets and wrapping them close around him. Sleep weighs him down heavily, and before he knows it, he knocks right back out.

In hindsight, Eddie is an idiot.

He wakes up feeling mostly fine in the morning and doesn’t think twice about the way he’s still oddly tired and unrested. He brushes off his mother’s concerns, refusing to let her take his temperature with as much dignity as he can (which isn’t saying a lot, because nothing short of begging really ever hinders Sonia from her whims) and takes his stupid birth control pill as well as an allergy one and an ibuprofen she throws into the mix right in front of her in the hopes that it will placate her.

She’s been even more crazy, ever since he presented omega in the Denbrough’s basement at the age of sixteen, the only one in their group, ever since the alphas around town have started looking at him with curiosity, since he’d started wearing Richie’s clothes around to keep himself that much safer, and not even Sonia could complain.

He wears Richie’s sweater to school over a fresh pair of jeans, tucks it loosely into his waistband and leaves the house hurriedly.

The bike ride to school makes him more winded than usual, which should have been his second glaring sign, but he blames it on the crisp fall air, cold in his lungs, and stumbles into first period late and slides into his seat beside Bill, who gives him an odd look, taking in the redness of his cheeks and the way he pants for breath several minutes into class.

He even makes it through most of the day, despite being ignorant as shit. During lunch, Richie’s at the school library with Bill throwing together some assignment last-minute for English, and Eddie feels antsy, oddly needy for his attention. He hasn’t seen Richie all day, their schedules not lining up correctly until nearly the last period, and he’s just beginning to ponder on why he’s so agitated over something so trivial when the bell rings and distracts him from using his critical thinking skills and putting two and two together.

Stan and Ben, the betas of the Losers, thankfully and perhaps even miraculously, are the ones there with him when he makes his way from the little alcove they’d had lunch in to his next class. He makes it halfway down the hall when it strikes him all at once, knees buckling, haze settling heavily over his head, and suddenly it’s absolutely obvious—his _heat_.

His body’s been teetering on the edge all day, but it’s in the middle of the quickly emptying hallway that Eddie folds to the ground like a house of cards in the breeze, and Stanley and Ben both alarmedly look first at him and then each other. Eddie’s scent floats lush in the air, hot and heavy, and all of a sudden this is dangerous.

Eddie’s pheromones are broadcasting his vulnerability like a radio signal at the perfect frequency, and Ben gapes, clapping his hands over his mouth. They’re not affected by his scent the same way alphas are, but they’re familiar. They’re pack, and that makes Eddie’s body betray him in the strangest way, their presence lulling his body into a false sense of security that is not echoed in the slightest by his panicked mind.

In a town like Derry, full of knothead alphas like Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter and their fucking goons, this is a neon fucking sign screaming ‘ _I’m here, I’m right here, come and get me!_ ’ and suddenly Eddie’s heart is thumping rabbit-quick in fear.

“Eddie?” It’s Stanley’s calm, sharp voice that calls his name, and when Stan kneels down and snaps his fingers right in front of Eddie’s face, he jerks, looks up at him with wide, wet eyes.

His head feels like it’s been stuffed full of wet cotton, thick and heavy and layering over his mind so distractingly. He tries to pull through the haze and answer, but the noise that falls from his mouth is a pathetic whimper.

Stan’s face softens significantly now that Eddie’s looking at him, his familiar hazel eyes boring into Eddie’s own, unbelievably calm. “You okay, baby?”

Eddie starts to nod instantly, but he falters and then slowly shakes his head. “Don’t think so,” he murmurs, tipping forward against Stanley’s shoulder. His belly’s pulsing with a slow throbbing heat that sits right above his hips, his joints aching whenever he shifts. He inhales deep, focuses on the clean detergent scent of Stan’s shirt instead of how bad his entire body feels like one huge bruise.

One of Stan’s slender hands fall onto his back over his sweater, rubbing back and forth as he says, low and urgent over Eddie’s heaving shoulders, “Ben, I need you to do me a favor—Richie’s in Bio, in that one lab by the library. I don’t care what you have to do, just _go_.”

“Right, shit,” Eddie hears Ben say breathlessly, and then the quick slap of his shoes against the tiles sounding as he sprints down the hall.

“You breathin’, Eds?” Stan asks, and it makes Eddie realize he’s not—he gulps down a lungful of Stan’s clean familiar scent and melts bonelessly against him. “Okay. Okay, let’s go into this classroom, alright?”

The empty room Stan pulls them into is mercifully dark after the fluorescent lights of the hallway, and Eddie takes another deep breath, crumpling against Stan’s chest as they sink to the floor together. Stan grimaces a little as he settles on the floor, and were Eddie any more in his right mind, he would feel bad about it, knowing how much Stan hates getting dust or dirt on his person.

In the moment, though, he can’t find the words, so he settles for crawling onto Stan’s lap and whining needily until the beta takes a hint and starts rubbing his back, holding him close again.

“What a handful,” Stanley sighs in his dry amused way, though there’s the slightest tremble under the words, and his slender fingers drag through Eddie’s dark hair, feeling the dampness of his hairline. “How does Richie deal with you, huh?”

Eddie nuzzles into Stan’s neck right above the collar of his shirt, buttoned neatly all the way to the top in the way Richie hardly ever does with his own loud print shirts. “Sorry,” he murmurs miserably, and pathetically sucks Stan’s warm skin between his lips, leaving a wet bruise on the pale skin of his neck.

“That’s alright,” Stan says, and his hands start massaging circles against his lower back, right where Eddie always gets the tensest and sorest. “It’s not like I was exactly leaping at the thought of going to Civics. And hang on, don’t leave hickeys where everyone can see.”

Eddie makes a soft disappointed noise when Stanley makes him pull off with a sharp tug to his hair, but Stan gives him an unimpressed look and loosens his collar, undoing the top two buttons with his clever fingers, exposing more of his peachy unblemished skin for Eddie.

He buries his face there with a sob of relief, not even caring about how desperate he may seem, licks at Stan’s pulse until he shudders under the kittenish warmth of Eddie’s tongue and says in voice tense with restraint, “Eddie, you’re straying into dangerous territory here.”

At first Eddie’s too busy mouthing at the curve of his throat to really hear what Stanley’s saying, the haze of heat thick in his brain, arousal crashing through his system so quick and hot that it takes precedent over anything else, but Stan’s hands slide down to his hips and dig in tight, his nails biting into Eddie’s soft skin. The sharp sting is enough to make Eddie jerk against him, distracting him from the growing heat under his skin, and he looks down between them in surprise.

Eddie’s hard—he’d been halfway there since his knees first buckled in the hall, and the salt of Stan’s skin had done the rest of the job, his cock straining against the zipper of his pants, leaking so much already that it seeps wet through the light-wash denim.

What’s unexpected is the soft flush on Stan’s cheeks when he looks up and bites his lip hesitantly, meets Eddie’s eyes with equal parts embarrassment and that always-present Stanley Uris brand of calmness, somehow coexisting behind the cool hazel of his eyes. Insistently pressed against Eddie’s thigh, where Eddie had been unconsciously shifting his hips down against him, Stan’s cock tents the front of his jeans impressively.

Eddie’s mouth waters instinctively at the sight, brain not processing anything past _cock_ and _hard_ and _want it in my mouth_.

Stan inhales sharply above him and Eddie blinks, then realizes that he’s mumbled some approximation of his thoughts out loud.

“Ben went to go grab Richie,” Stanley says with the patience of a saint, but Eddie’s already slinking down off his lap and between his legs, pressing an eager palm against the seam of his jeans. “Hey. _Hey_ , now, don’t do that,” Stan stops Eddie with a hand flat on his shoulder and gives him a meaningful look. “In the middle of school? What if we get caught? You want them to give Mrs. K. a call?”

And fuck, if Stan’s logic doesn’t stop Eddie cold.

“D-don’t let them,” Eddie stops and clears his throat, tries again in a slightly steadier voice, “don’t let them call my mom, Stan, she’ll give me suppressants, and they hurt so fucking bad.”

“No,” Stan says immediately, his arms tightening protectively over Eddie’s shoulders, “no, of course not, Eddie. I’ll go deal with the attendance later, don’t worry about it. But we can’t here, baby, anyone could smell you or walk in.”

“But I need it,” Eddie whines, simple as that, and then he’s fumbling with the buckle of Stan’s belt, and Stan sits back, not helping but not hindering either, because if it’ll shut Eddie up for a bit until Ben can convince the notoriously strict Advanced Placement Bio teacher to let Richie out of class, then it’s looking like a good option.

Eddie gets the buckle open after a few moments of struggle, his skinny fingers not cooperating, and then tries to wrench down the zipper of Stan’s jeans, and when that doesn’t work, he looks up at Stan with a dark accusatory gaze like it’s his fault that Eddie can’t figure out how to get the zipper around the bulge of his cock. He gets frustrated with it and gives up, and then presses his mouth to the outline of Stan’s cock through the fucking denim because he’s _horny_ and kind of pathetic.

Stan curls a hand into his hair, knuckles close to his roots so that it sends tingles all along his scalp when he tightens his grip, and he pants, breathless, “ _Okay_ , calm down, Eddie. I’ll do it.”

He straightens abruptly onto his knees and shoves Eddie’s hands off, undoes the zipper of his jeans with a firm tug and then his dick’s in his hand, flushed and half hard and Eddie’s mouth fucking waters at the sight.

He lets his mouth fall open as the velvety head of Stan’s cock brushes his lower lip, smearing salty precum over the curve of it that Eddie licks away eagerly, his tongue glistening when he slides it down, presses it to the underside of Stan’s dick and takes him into his mouth.

Stan’s next breath shakes out of him as Eddie sucks around his cockhead, the soft curves of his cheeks hollowing, but the angle’s bad and his forehead presses to the hem of Stan’s shirt, and he starts to slide further toward the floor when Stan catches his shoulder and asks, winded and pink-cheeked, “Do you want me to stand up?”

It’s only after Eddie gives a shaky, “ _uh huh_ ,” the words tickling his lower belly, that Stan gets his legs under him, and then it’s Eddie sitting on his knees in front of him, one hand already wrapped around the base of his cock, jerking him off slow and dry.

It’s easier this time, to get his mouth around Stan’s dick and just let it drag slow and deep into his throat until his eyes water and there’s nothing on his mind except for the firm grip Stan’s got on his hair and jaw and the salty musk of cock in his mouth, making him drool as Stan slowly fucks his mouth.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, and he lets his jaw go slack as Stan’s cock presses deeper with every shallow thrust, until his lips meet the fingers he’s got wrapped around the base of his dick.

“There you go,” Stan can’t help but praise lowly as Eddie moans around him, eagerly bobbing his head, taking him down as far as he can before his throat flexes around Stan’s cock and he gags, pulls back with his shoulders heaving, and sticky threads of saliva web between his swollen mouth and Stan’s cock.

He jerks Stanley’s dick with spit-slick skinny fingers, feeling the veins and satiny skin, pressing his tongue right under the head of his cock to lap up the precum that beads there, his other handing sliding down to curl cup Stan’s balls, and the shudder that runs through Stan’s frame at the feeling pushes his dick back into Eddie’s mouth.

Stan curls a hand through his hair, guides his cock back until it hits the back of Eddie’s throat, and lets Eddie choke over him again and again, pulling back right when Eddie’s gag reflex makes his eyes water, and pretty soon there are tears tacky on his cheeks, his mouth stuffed full of Stanley’s cock. Stan takes a moment to angle his dick differently, traces the bulge he makes in Eddie’s cheek with his thumb, and Eddie moans around him, a desperate sound that gets muffled by Stan in his mouth.

Eddie’s mouth is pretty small, and his gag reflex is kind of a hair-trigger, but he makes up for it with his enthusiasm, licking around the head of Stan’s cock, tracing a vein down to the base, and then he’s mouthing sloppily at Stan’s balls, and Stan chokes, stuffs the heel of his hand into his mouth so he doesn’t moan so loud that it puts them at risk of being found.

He’s just starting to wonder where the fuck Richie could be, because the Bio labs can’t possibly be _this_ far, when the door rattles and then starts to creak open. There’s a cold moment of panic, the fear of being caught, but then Richie’s there, long and lanky as always, dressed like a fucking punk in his huge boots and grinning roguishly.

“You guys started the party without me?” he jibes, though Stan doesn’t miss the tension in his shoulders, posture relaxing only once he’s looked around and realized that the two are fine.

“What took you so long?” Stan asks, and his voice trembles, weak from the way Eddie doesn’t even turn around, doesn’t stop sucking his cock for a single moment, too gone to even think of pausing.

“Haystack found me behind the dumpsters with Bevvie, thank god he’s the smart one around here,” Richie says, and kicks the door shut behind him with his heavy beat-up old boots. He reaches a hand back, locks it swiftly. His eyes land on Eddie, and he gives a low whistle. “Damn, Stanford, I leave for five minutes to go hit a jack and you’re already stealing up my boyfriend?”

Eddie, with the most inconvenient timing in the world, moans around his dick and proceeds to gag himself again, and Stan’s head spins. He wheezes out, “Shut up, jerk,” and to his annoyance, it only makes Richie smirk.

To his surprise, he doesn’t immediately kneel down to Eddie. Instead, Richie sidesteps Eddie completely and pulls Stan’s face to the side, long fingers against the curve of his jaw.

“Do I get a turn?” Richie asks, and he’s never had any concept of personal space when it comes to Stan, so close that he can feel the heat of Richie’s breath across his mouth.

“Depends,” Stan says warily, gaze briefly dipping to his full lips. “You gonna be sweet about it?”

Richie’s smile takes on a mischievous edge. “Aww, Stanny,” he simpers, “I’m _always_ sweet about it.”

Richie closes the miniscule distance between their lips, presses them together soft, slow and warm, and between his legs, Eddie’s eagerly sucking Stan’s cock until it hits the back of his throat, staying like that until his throat flutters slickly around him and he has to pull off, taking a gulp of air before he does it again. Stan’s brain just overloads for a minute as Richie bites at his lower lip, laps over it a moment later, his tongue so fucking warm when he licks into Stan’s mouth.

Heat coils low in his gut when Eddie pulls off again, jerking him off quick and efficient, his parted, swollen lips pressed to the head of his cock, and he looks so fucked out, tears making his dark lashes spiky, spit glistening over his mouth and down his chin, and the sight of Eddie, neat, meticulous _Eddie_ who carries two fanny packs, who irons his socks, turned such a slutty mess because of Stan’s cock, because he wants Stan’s load in his sweet little _mouth_. Stan feels distinctly indecent as Richie slots his hip between his thighs, reaches a lazy hand out and loops his long fingers over Eddie’s at the base of Stan’s dick.

“Alright, enough of this shit,” Richie says, and threads his fingers into Eddie’s hair where Stan’s have left it disheveled, and pulls Eddie off his cock, just like that. Eddie whines, annoyed again, and Stan can’t feel his knees, leaning against the flimsy little desk behind him, the edge of it against the small of his back, and he breathes heavy.

Richie sinks down next to Eddie, and then Eddie’s clinging onto him, nuzzling into his pale throat, Stan watches them tangle for a few minutes, the way Eddie crawls into Richie’s lap and kisses him demandingly, grinding his lithe hips forward, and Richie makes a low gaspy noise against his mouth, his hands curling over Eddie’s thighs, pulling their hips flush.

Richie’s scent gets him worked up like nothing else, and Eddie nearly sobs in relief, burying his face in his alpha’s neck without a trace of shame.

This is where Stan starts feeling awkward. Richie’s here and Stan can go. He’s basically served his purpose, but he just stands there for a moment longer, his dick in his fist, wet from Eddie’s tongue, the taste of Richie’s cigarettes in his mouth, and all he can do is _watch_.

Eddie moans then, a sharp desperate noise that suddenly makes Stan get his bearings. He straightens, starts to get his clothes in order when Richie hums and says his name.

“Why don’t you stay?” Richie asks when he turns, a loose grin on his mouth, the suggestion tossed into the air between them casually like it’s nothing.

It’s definitely not _nothing_ , because Eddie can suck Stan’s cock as much as he wants when he needs it, but at the end of the day, it’s Richie’s sweater pulled over his shoulders to keep away pushy alphas, and it’s Richie who Eddie’s so desperate for now, his body reacting in the most primal way, so fucking wet that even Stan can smell it.

But then Eddie frowns up at him, mouth set in his stubborn way, brows steepled together low over his shining eyes, and he asks, “You’re not staying?”

“Well, I,” Stanley begins, and abruptly ends. He doesn’t know how to answer. Finally, he deflects, “You’re doing this here? In school?”

“C’mon, Uris, you know the administration in this place is full of shitheads. And now you don’t have to worry about some other alpha walking in with me here.” Richie looks far too smug about the latter statement, but even Stan knows he’s right—with Richie’s presence, the other alphas won't bother them.

Eddie clasps his hands under his chin, gives him a look that would melt glaciers, and says, "Please stay, Stan?"

He shifts his weight. Bites his lip hard and looks down at Richie's endless sprawling limbs and Eddie's earnest eyes. Tries not to let his eagerness show on his face when he says slow, "Okay, okay, I'll stay, you kinky fuckers."

Richie gives him a wolfish smile. "Oh, baby, don't be like that," he says, and the words rock through Stan, each one ricocheting around in his chest like shrapnel. His lips part, the flush spreading from his cheeks all the way down his collar.

Like he knows exactly the kind of effect he's got on Stan, Richie's knowing look takes on an arrogance, and he leans back, one palm flat on the floor behind him, the other arm wrapped around Eddie's waist. Stan wants to slide forward and fit himself there, make a home for himself between the two, and abruptly hates himself for it.

“Didn’t you want me to treat you sweet?” Richie drawls, and before Stan can give an indignant reply, Richie’s rubbing his knuckles along Eddie’s cheek to get his attention and asking him, “I’m nice to you, aren’t I?”

Eddie makes a soft, muffled noise against his throat in response to that. “On occasion,” he says, and it only makes Richie’s grin widen.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Richie promises, and though Stan doubts it very much, when Richie stretches a hand out to him, he goes easily, letting Richie’s long boney fingers catch his own and pull him down to the floor with them.

“That’s not saying much,” Stan says like it’s instinct, and Eddie stifles a giggle into the heel of his hand.

“You guys are tyrannical,” Richie says fondly, “Shouldn’t even be allowed in the same room. All you do is conspire against me.”

Eddie hums thoughtfully, scrambling off his lap to get between Stan’s legs again. “How tragic for you,” he tells Richie, not even sparing him a glance. Instead, he looks up at Stan questioningly, one warm hand braced on his knee, the feverish, dark eagerness back in his eyes.

Stan’s mouth wobbles like he’s trying to stifle a smile, and Eddie wants to dip his tongue into the indent of his dimple and taste his skin. “Go on,” he says, inclining his chin.

Eddie kisses him clumsily, licking into his mouth from the beginning, their tongues sliding slick against each other, and Stan reaches down, reaches under the hem of Richie’s borrowed sweater and slots his hands against Eddie’s back, holding them flush as Eddie nips at his bottom lip impatiently and jerks his hips forward, dragging his hard cock over Stan’s thigh.

Stan helps from the start this time, undoing his jeans for the second time, dragging them down to his knees when he feels Richie grab the bunched denim, pulling them all the way down to Stan’s boney ankles.

He flinches when the chilly tile floor presses against his bare thighs, pushes Eddie back so he can get on his feet again. “Not on the _ground_ at least.”

Richie chuckles at his fussiness, walking forward a couple steps on his knees, enough that Stan winces, feeling the phantom ache of the hard school floor. "You sure did choose a fuckin spot, huh?"

Stan gives him a withering look. "Well, it's not like I had much choice," he points out, "when Eddie was about to lose his shit in the middle of the goddamn hallway."

Eddie makes a quiet apologetic noise where he’s nuzzling his cheek against Stan’s thigh, and Stan exasperatedly drags a hand through his fluffy dark hair and says, “Oh, it’s not your _fault_ , don’t feel bad, Eddie.”

He watches Eddie fumble with the waistband of his boxers, and then his fingers wrap one by one around Stan’s dick again, and he’s half hard already, all riled up from Eddie’s mouth already.

Except this time, Eddie grasps for Stan’s hand, lets him pull him up onto his shaky legs, crowds in close and wraps his skinny fingers around Stan’s cock between them, standing on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Stan’s mouth.

The slow drag of Eddie’s loose fist over his cock is hot, too dry until Eddie licks his palm and starts jerking his dick properly, long strokes that have Stan’s knees quaking.

“Alright, quit it,” he tells Eddie finally, batting his wrist away, out of breath. “Should we… over the desk?”

“The _desk?_ ” Richie asks incredulously, the exact same moment that Eddie chokes over a moan at the idea, his cheeks stained a lovely red.

“I’m trying not to make a mess,” Stan says exasperatedly. “Come here, Eddie, just—no, let me,” he bends Eddie over the heavy wooden teacher’s desk, one hand pressed over the nape of his neck where Eddie’s scent gland’s giving off that crazy heavy warm omega scent, pushing his cheek flat against the old wood grain.

“Is that good, baby?” he asks Eddie, who arches his back a little, pressing his hips back against Stan’s eagerly.

“It’s fine,” Eddie says impatiently. “Just get inside me already, Stanley.”

Stan reaches around Eddie’s waist, blindly fiddles with the button of his jeans before he gets it open and starts pulling them down Eddie’s legs until Eddie gets the idea and helps, eagerly sliding out of his underwear as well.

Eddie’s wet. _Of course, he would be_ , Stan thinks a beat later, a little wildly. _He’s in heat._

But Stan’s never actually seen it in real life—not like those VHS porn tapes Richie somehow keeps getting his hands on and insisting they watch together, and looking at Eddie in front of him, he realizes that the grainy TV screen in Richie’s bedroom hasn’t prepared him for the sight, not really. Eddie’s practically _leaking_ slick, smeared all shiny over the tight, pink pucker of his rim, dripping obscene down the line of his ass and over his balls, and Stan wants to fall to his knees and just mouth over the delicate seam of his taint, lick over his hole until Eddie cries.

It’s a thought he’s absolutely _never_ had before, not specifically for Eddie, but he’s spent so many high dusky evenings with Richie talking his mouth off about the omega, has pulled Eddie under his arm and let him curl into his side often enough that the sunflare of arousal that erupts inside him, hot and sudden, comes with a rush of warm, familiar affection. He wants to be good to Eddie. He throws a look at Richie, a little overwhelmed.

Richie only grins like a fucking dope and arches a dark eyebrow. “Go ahead, sweetheart,”

But there’s a trusting softness behind that smile, an easygoingness in the way he perches on another desk by them, one long leg drawn towards him, the other dangling off the side, and he laces his fingers together over the knee he’s got pulled to his chest, content to watch. Like he trusts Stan to know what he’s doing

The petname makes Stan a little flushed, but he ignores the way his cheeks heat up in favor of unbuttoning his shirt all the way, sliding it off and letting it puddle on the desk next to Eddie, and then he reaches for Eddie’s sweater, pushing it tentatively up. With each inch the hem moves up, more and more of Eddie’s freckled soft skin comes into, peachy and smooth, the dip of his tapered waist so fucking _pretty_ that Stan can’t help himself.

He drags his hands up Eddie’s back slow, taking Richie’s pullover with him, until he gets it up all the way to the nape of Eddie’s neck, flushed and sweaty, his scent gland nearly throbbing under his skin, and pulls it off. He mimics what he’s seen Richie do sometimes in the clubhouse when Eddie’s splayed drowsily over him in the hammock or the Denbrough’s basement on move nights when Eddie starts falling asleep in Richie’s lap halfway through the movie, rubbing the pad of his thumb in deep little circles over the nape of Eddie’s neck.

Eddie arches against the wood desk, and he lets out a low humming noise at the feeling, cheek pressed to his folded arms on the desk. “Do you need my fingers?” Stan asks, even though he’s pretty sure Eddie absolutely _doesn’t_ —he’s so wet, Stan can feel it smearing over his thighs whenever Eddie shifts his hips back and tries to grind against Stan’s dick.

“Need your cock, Stanny,” Eddie pleads, and _that_ petname, it’s one Eddie had used once in a while when they’d been younger, usually drowsy in the morning after a sleepover and shaking Stan awake, rubbing the sleep out of his own doe-eyes and blinking sweetly over Stan’s sleeping bag on Bill’s bedroom floor. _Move over, Stanny, I want to cuddle_. His dick throbs, and it feels almost like a betrayal, like he’s tainting the memory.

Stan takes a deep fucking breath. Takes a moment to steady himself.

He glances at Richie once as he takes his dick in his hand and lines the blunt head up to Eddie’s little pink hole, throat clicking dryly around a hard swallow when he finds Richie’s eyes, dark behind his glasses, his full, soft lips parted just a little over an excited breath.

Stan looks back down at Eddie, his narrow freckly hips pinned to the desk by Stan’s, feels how ridiculously soft Eddie’s perky little ass feels against his thighs. He drags the head of his cock over Eddie’s hole, and Eddie clenches helplessly at the feeling, and he’s so fucking w _arm_ , Stan’s cock throbs in his hand.

He shifts forward, and the head of his cock starts to sink into Eddie slow and slick, his tight ass stretching sloppily around the intrusion, swallowing Stan inch by inch, and they’re both gasping for breath, Stan panting openmouthed against Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie reaching back and clutching demandingly at Stan’s hand until he intertwines their fingers.

Eddie’s so hot inside, so wet that the slide is _easy_ , and Stan watches the dipped muscles of his back shift as Eddie pushes his hips back and takes him to the hilt, his body so incredibly sleek and tight around him, and Stan’s balls _ache_ with the urge to just fuck him already.

He gives it a minute though, letting his dick stretch Eddie out, pinning the smaller boy to the desk under him so he has no leeway to move his hips, and Eddie makes a wet noise like a sob, whimpers out, “Oh m-my _god_ , Stan,” and chokes over a moan when Stan slides back out and leaves only the head of his cock inside Eddie, his rim stretched tight and pink around it.

He snaps his hips forward, fucking back into Eddie with one long solid thrust that makes him arch and shudder, punches a cry from his mouth, and then another and another as Stan starts fucking him properly.

He knows Richie’s eyes are on him, watching the tenseness of his back while he pounds into Eddie so hard it makes him choke over a gasp every time Stan’s hips slap his ass, and somehow, he doesn’t even mind that he’s putting on a perverse show for Richie’s fucking enjoyment because he’s so gone for the way Eddie eagerly presses back against him and whines, “ _more_ Stan, please, more.”

And then suddenly Richie’s against his back, startlingly warm. Stan jumps at the sudden contact, but Richie’s already wrapping him up in his long arms, snaking them around his waist, his enormous palms sweeping over Stan’s stomach and hips.

“Can I?” Richie asks, mouthing wetly across the nape of his neck, and Stan tries his best not to shiver when it cools slick on his skin. He takes Stan’s hips, pulls him back a little and grinds his dick against Stan’s tailbone. His brain already feels like it’s melting from the unbearable wet warmth of being inside Eddie, like every part of his mind’s just focused on where Eddie’s clamping down on him so tight and slick, and adding Richie to the equation just doesn’t compute.

“Can you what?” Stan asks distractedly, his attention caught on the way Eddie’s starting to fuck back against his cock, watching the way Eddie’s ass swallows his dick so fucking perfectly each time. And Eddie’s _so_ wet— Stan doesn’t have much experience with omegas to compare it to, but Eddie’s slick is smeared all over Stan’s hips, casting an obscene luster over where their bodies smack together with every hard thrust.

Richie grabs his ass suddenly, two handfuls that make Stan gasp in surprise, and he squeezes roughly. Stan’s knees almost buckle.

Richie groans appreciatively, and then his mouth’s back on Stan’s nape, his teeth and tongue scraping over the sensitive skin right above the top divot of his spine like— like an _omega_. Like he would to Eddie.

The thought makes Stan’s belly churn with a new pulse of thick, sticky desire coating his insides like honey, heat flooding through him.

“B-but I’m,” Stan stammers, red-cheeked and breathless, and squirms when Richie kisses him there again, digs his fingers in a little too hard where he’s holding Eddie’s hips, “I’m fucking Eddie.”

“So?” Richie asks. His breath tickles Stan’s hairline, and Stan’s having such a hard time focusing on words right now, when his body’s being ravaged by sensation, the world hazy save for the raw, slick heat of Eddie’s body around his dick, anchored there in his stupor by Richie’s mouth and his insistent, scorching hands.

“So, you—” Stan pauses, tries to formulate what he’s even saying, but then Eddie whines low in his throat, and Stan realizes he’s lost pace, that Eddie’s trying to make up for it by bracing his shaking hands on the desk and rocking back against every sloppy thrust, his perky little ass slapping Stan’s hips in a quick dirty rhythm that reddens Stan’s cheeks.

He tips his head back against Richie’s shoulder, breathless, his body so fucking tense. “I?” Richie prompts, his voice low, and the gravel of it makes Stan shiver over the words. “What is it, baby? I can’t touch your dick? Trust me, that’s not what I was going for.”

Richie snakes his arms around Stan’s chest, presses his palms flat to the hollow under his ribcage, strokes down the flat plane of his stomach. “Fuck, babe, look at how well you take Eddie’s ass,” Richie groans, hooking his chin over Stan’s shoulder to watch Eddie’s rim, pink and slick, swallow Stan’s fat cock each time, until his cheeks hit Stan’s hip bones, smearing slick between them. “Wanna see if you can take my fingers as easily.”

Stan glances at Richie in his peripherals, the sharp cut of his jaw against Stan’s shoulder, the curve of his nose, crooked from the time he’d mouthed off to Patrick Hockstetter their first year of high school and he’d gotten himself a broken nose and a mouthful of blood for his trouble.

That had been before he’d presented alpha and grown into his lanky, long frame, before he’d been able to bare his teeth and push 5’10 fucking Hockstetter to the floor, like he’d done the time Junior year, when he’d made another disgusting remark to Eddie— _why don’t you show me how you suck that loser Trashmouth’s cock, huh, Kaspbrak? Bet a bitch like you’d enjoy it—_ before Richie had lost his shit, 6’2 at last and shoulders broadening.

Stan had been with him in the hall then, had watched Richie strike quick and hard, a blow to the stomach that made Hockstetter double over enough for Richie to slam an elbow into his back and pin him to the floor with a knee to the spine, the powerful muscles in Richie’s long, leonine frame shifting when he’d ducked down and spat right in the other alpha’s face, “If you _ever_ fucking look at him again, I’ll tear your throat out.”

And there had been something solemn in the way he’d said it, something uncharacteristically serious behind his dark eyes that had made Patrick break the stare first, with vile hatred in his eyes. It had been effective, Stan knows, because it’s been ages since Bowers and his goons have done anything quite as drastic as the things they’d done to terrorize them as kids, since Bev, Bill, Mike and Richie had all presented alpha.

Richie’s—fuck, he’s s _exy,_ Stan realizes abruptly, looking at his best friend’s feathery dark eyelashes and pretty pink mouth for what feels like the first time in this light. Richie’s tall and strong and kind, and now he’s _hot_ , and fuck, his jokes have been inclining in quality lately too. Stan doesn’t know what he’d do if he had to actually admit that Richie’s _funny_.

Richie’s hands find his nipples, hard and so, _so_ sensitive, and he thumbs over them, and it makes Stan jerk, a moan bubbling out of his mouth before he can help it, his hips snapping forward against Eddie’s ass, knocking Eddie’s hips against the edge of the desk.

Eddie’s already been whining soft with every thrust, shaky and stuttered, but he gasps now from the flare of pain that comes from slamming his boney hips against the desk repeatedly from the way Stan’s been pounding into him. Richie catches the noise immediately, and Stan a second after that, still a little disoriented, and they both go still.

It takes him a second to catch his breath from being fucked, but Eddie whines clumsily against the desk, “ _hurts_ , fuck, the—the thing keeps knocking into me, guys.”

Richie reaches a hand around, presses it to Eddie’s hip as Stan carefully pulls out. “You okay, baby?” Richie immediately asks, rubbing over the ridge of his hipbone soothingly. “Wanna be on your back instead?”

Eddie nods once, starts to straighten up on his shaky arms, and Stan reaches for him automatically, flipping him around the waist, sweat-slick back to the desk, and Eddie’s thighs bracket his hips, lean, long legs wrapping around Stan’s waist.

He pushes back in slow, his cockhead brushing slick across the upper wall of Eddie’s pelvis on the upstroke, and Eddie shivers under him at the new angle, eyes wet and wide but unwavering on Stan’s.

“Is that better?” Stan asks, and ducks down to kiss him lingeringly, curling a hand around Eddie’s jaw.

Eddie hums an affirmation into the kiss, licking into his mouth as Stan fucks him slow and easy, shallowly rutting against his ass, and when Eddie breaks the kiss, it’s to tip his head back against the desk and reach his arms over his head, grabbing onto the other edge for leverage to fuck himself down on Stan’s cock.

Eddie’s belly goes concave with his arms above his head, the arch of his back accentuating the curve of his hips, and Stan fits his fingers there, holding Eddie’s waist where it’s the narrowest with his long slender hands and pulls him down onto his cock.

Eddie’s moaning with every thrust, a staccato _uh, uh, uh_ that nearly gets lost over the slap of Stan’s hips against his ass, his thighs tight around Stan’s waist to keep him deep, and Richie—Richie keeps pinching Stan’s hard nipples gently between his thumbs and forefingers, and it’s making Stan’s breath hitch, his cheeks red and hips stuttering.

“C’mon, Stanny, let me play with your ass,” Richie says again, outright this time, as easily as he’d ask Stan to pass him the blunt.

Stan doesn’t even need to think about it. “Be careful,” he tells Richie in a tight voice, and shifts as subtly as he can, widening his stance.

Richie kisses the curve of his cheek. “Of course, sweetheart,” he says, and it’s much too tender—Stan doesn’t know what to do with himself, with the heat on his ears and cheeks, the way Richie’s tone is making him want to melt into the ground.

There’s no lube. Stan realizes it as soon as Richie reaches between Stan and Eddie’s bodies, drags his long fingers through Eddie’s slick, shiny and streaked across his hips and still dripping from him, forced out with every upstroke of Stan’s cock, streaming from his hole obscenely down the line of his ass.

“Oh,” Stan says faintly, his knees going weak. Eddie’s slick. Of course.

Richie presses his slippery fingers over Stan’s ass, rubbing over his hole with two of them, and Stan startles at the feeling, his hips twitching instinctively away from the feeling. He’s not particularly sensitive there, but his body’s all taut and tensed from fucking Eddie, and he feels oddly aware of every brush of Richie’s fingers against him.

“Stay right there,” Richie tells him lowly, “so good, babe, just keep still. Let me get you all open around my fingers.”

Richie’s middle finger starts to press marginally into him, moving easily with the way he’s thrusting into Eddie, and Stan’s tighter than Eddie’s omega body by far. Richie starts off with one slick finger, the ring of muscle swallowing it to the knuckle slow, so slowly that Richie almost _wants_ to fuck him a little more roughly to see if Stan will do something uncharacteristic, moaning loud and undignified.

One finger is familiar. Stan’s done this enough to himself while jerking off that it doesn't hurt, but Richie’s fingers are so _long_ , curling deeper into him with a surety that catches Stan by surprise— he’s not used to his awkward, lanky best friend being so self-assured, but this is something Richie’s done with Eddie so many times.

He shifts his hips, resists the urge to squirm when Richie starts working in the second, stroking around Stan’s hole with his other fingers, kissing his neck openmouthed to distract him, but Stan whimpers around the stretch anyways and Richie laughs, low and brash and unfairly hot, and presses a kiss to the curve of Stan's bicep. "Hang on, just let me," Richie murmurs, and slowly drags his fingers from the warmth of Stan's body.

It punches the breath from his lungs, leaves him panting roughly, his hips stuttering forward, and Eddie makes a wounded noise under him when it drives his cock deeper into his body, practically shuddering against the desk.

“Shit, I’m—I’m sorry, Eddie,” he says, breathless, but Eddie shakes his head and pulls him closer, swallows his apologies with long heated kisses that have Stan’s legs shaking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s good,” Eddie rambles against his mouth, hooking his ankles behind the small of Stan’s back to pull him closer. “It’s so— _oh,_ f- _uh-fuck!,_ You’re so deep, Stan, you’re so fucking—”

And then Richie reaches around Stan and shoves his fingers into Eddie’s mouth. “Shut the fuck _up_ , Eds,” he growls, and pushes them deep. Eddie makes a choked off surprised noise, his dark, wet eyes widening as two of Richie’s long fingers flatten against the slick warmth of his tongue, pressing down. He drags his hand from Eddie’s mouth, saliva stickily threading between Eddie’s tongue and the digits, and Eddie’s got this blissed out look on his face just from gagging on Richie’s fingers, his little bitten mouth all red and slick.

Richie nudges Stan’s legs minutely further apart, squeezing the curve of his hip, the swell of his ass, and then, pressing his slick fingers back to Stan’s hole, Richie tacks on semi-apologetically, “someone’s gonna to hear you if you don’t stop crying like a goddamn slut, Eddie.”

Eddie shivers under him, his dark brows pinching together. “N-not a slut,” he stammers out, even as Stan fucks into him deep and slow, feels the way he’s shaking around Stan’s cock, his body clinging slick and so fucking tight on every downstroke.

Stan says the first thing that comes to mind— “Then why am I fucking you like one?”

Eddie _gasps_ , clamps his hands over his mouth as a shudder wracks through his body, and even Richie groans, “ _shit,_ Stan, what the hell,” and rocks his hips down against Stan’s waist. 

Stan’s brows crinkle together defensively. “Why are you allowed to say vulgar stuff and I’m not?”

Richie chuckles, rubs his slick fingers over Stan’s hole, sinking slow into the pink pucker, letting it swallow two of his long fingers again, the slow drag of it eased because his hand’s still slippery from Eddie’s mouth. “Well, firstly, I don’t ruin it two second later by calling it _vulgar stuff_ ,” he says as Stan shakes under him, the aching stretch of Richie’s fingers exquisitely juxtaposed to the way Eddie winds his thighs around Stan’s waist, his eyes all glazed over and wet, hands still clapped over his own mouth to keep himself quiet.

“And secondly,” Richie says, pressing a wet, openmouthed kiss to his shoulder, slowly working his fingers deeper, and Stan feels overwhelmed, all dizzyingly warm and caught between the two of them. “What the fuck, that was sexy as fuck. _Please_ say whatever you want. Like, I would get down on my knees and _ask_ , if you needed me to.”

Stan squirms a little. “Shut up, Richie,” he says automatically, but the image of Richie on his knees, his long limbs sprawled around him, his pink, full mouth taking the time to _beg,_ just for Stan to berate him—god, Stan’s not going to last long. “Just—just fuck me already, we don’t have time t-to— _oh_ —”

Richie curls his fingers up roughly, his other hand curled securely around Stan’s hip, and Stan just goes a little limp in his grasp, fitting his cheek against the junction of Richie’s neck and shoulder, letting Richie and Eddie do the push and pull work, Eddie’s eager hips fucking down against him to meet his sloppy thrusts while Richie guides him back onto his fingers.

He tries not to jerk his waist right out of Richie’s grasp when his fingers curve insistently against where Stan’s the most sensitive, winds up gasping incoherently against Richie’s throat as his dick plunges into Eddie’s wet, tight hole again, his balls slapping Eddie’s rim, and Richie—

Richie _keeps_ him there, balls deep inside Eddie, easily holding him in place with one hand and rubbing his prostate insistently with shallow strokes of his fingers with the other, doesn’t stop even when Stan makes a noise like a sob and squirms against his chest.

“Yeah, that’s good, isn’t it, baby?” Richie croons, and Stan _hates_ being talked to like that, coddling and dulcet like he’d speak to a child, and hates that he loves it even more.

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t give Richie a reply until he presses a kiss clumsily behind Stan’s ear and rasps, “You want me to fuck you like an omega? Like I do to Eds?” and bends Stan over, pressing his chest against Eddie’s, and Eddie winds his arms around Stan’s shoulders, pulls him into a kiss, hungry and so hot, Eddie’s tongue slipping into his mouth.

Stan kisses back as best he can, sucking Eddie’s tongue and trying his best not to be too sloppy, even as Richie fingers him even rougher, the angle shifted in his hips when he’s bent over like this, opening them up a little more for Richie’s fingers than when he’d been standing straight. He curls his long fingers, and each flex of his arm makes Stan moan, choked out and quiet, as Richie rubs his fingertips against his prostate.

He’s going to cum—he can feel it in his balls and in the telltale tightening of his stomach. He looks down at Eddie’s little pink cock bouncing all over his own flat belly, glistening wet with shiny precum, at Eddie’s heaving splotchy flushed chest, his nipples so fucking cute and pink, and Stan leans down without even thinking about it, latches his lips around one of those pretty nipples, and Eddie cries harshly, twisting in shock at the heat of Stan’s wet mouth.

Eddie tangles a hand in Stan’s hair, holding onto the soft dark blonde curls to keep his mouth there, and Stan circles his tongue around Eddie’s nipple then _sucks_ , and Eddie wails, his cock twitching against his belly. Stan feels it where they’re pressed together, wet and slipping against his ribcage, and Eddie grinds up against him, his breath coming quicker and quicker, his own orgasm so fucking close.

“Is that good? You like Stan’s mouth on your tits?” Richie growls, and his own fingers grind insistently into Stan’s ass, and something about the lewd, sloppy noise of it along with Richie’s low gravelly voice talking about _Stan’s mouth_ and _tits_ actually tips him over the edge.

Stan cums first, gasping wet against Eddie’s collarbone and fucking back against Richie’s fingers like a goddamn slut, and his dick pulses warm inside Eddie, his hips grinding desperately against Eddie’s rim as he milks his cock for all its worth, creaming Eddie’s fucking ass like he’s only dared to let himself think about in the dark privacy of his room maybe once or twice in his entire life. And Eddie takes it so well, his hole clenching tight and so fucking perfect around Stan’s dick, his ankles crossed tight against the small of Stan’s back, legs wound around his waist to keep him inside as Stan fucks his load into him.

The warmth of it makes Eddie shiver, and he reaches down between their bodies, tugs frantically at his leaking little pink cock, and Stan has the decency to grind forward even if he’s gradually going soft and he’s starting to get oversensitive, keep his dick against Eddie’s prostate.

He sucks Eddie’s other nipple into his mouth lazily, body all strung out and lethargic from his orgasm, and Eddie’s so sloppy around him now from his own cum. He presses his tongue flat, and above him, Richie’s leaning over both their entangled bodies, bracing one arm on the desk by Eddie’s head, and he ducks over Stan’s head to kiss Eddie hard and deep and full.

Eddie sobs into his mouth and cums sticky all over his own belly, arching his hips up off the desk into his fist, Stan’s dick keeping him so full as his body clamps tight, desperate for it, and Richie licks into his mouth, keeps kissing him deep and slow, sucking his tongue and lips until Eddie’s frame is shivering with aftershocks.

Richie gives him one last sweet lingering kiss, nuzzles his face against Eddie’s, and Eddie strokes a shaky hand over the sharp cut of his cheekbone, the hollow of his cheek, and then Richie straightens, strokes a hand over Stan’s back. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he says, and lets Eddie kiss him languidly too, gives Eddie a couple pecks over his cheeks for his trouble. The cleanup is surprisingly easy. Stan feels like a fucking heathen standing in the middle of a classroom ass naked when he pulls out, but there’s a very convenient box of tissues on the teacher’s desk, so he quickly wipes himself down and gathers his clothing.

Eddie’s much slower to get up, his limbs shaky and strung out, and he winces delicately when Stan’s cum starts rolling down the inside of his thigh.

Stan’s so glad he keeps a pack of wet wipes in his bag. He hands one to Eddie, and then carefully wipes his own soft cock clean before getting his clothes on.

“Stan the Man, over here,” Richie says, and there’s a little fond smile on his mouth when Stan looks over from finger-combing his hair to look less disheveled and not generally debaucherous.

Richie tosses something at him. Stan reaches up from his hair and catches it reflexively, looks down Richie’s bottle opener-slash-keychain in his palm, housekeys clinking against the one for his old truck.

“You good to drive, Uris?” he asks with a teasing smile. “Or are your knees gonna give out?”

“Shut up, Richie. _Yeah_ , I can drive,” Stan tells him indignantly, quickly gathering Eddie’s and his belongings. “Let’s just hurry the fuck up before this class ends.”

There’s definitely a sticky spot or two left on the desk, and as much as it gnaws on Stan to leave any evidence of their mess behind, he’s got his priorities in order. He watches Eddie shrug into the jacket Richie’s been wearing all day, the tension of his frame loosening just a little as Richie’s scent settles over him, a heavy, protective thing.

He cleans up the desk as best he can with another wipe, and by the time he’s done tossing them, Richie’s got Eddie tucked up against his side, and though his face is pallid, he’s coherent and steady on his feet.

The walk down the hall may be the most perilous journey Stan’s been on in a very long time, but like Richie had pointed out, the administration, as well as most of the adult population of Derry, _is_ full of shitheads, and there’s not a soul in sight to catch three seniors skipping a class or two. Hell, Richie and Bev skip most days, now that Stan thinks about it. Richie’s annoyingly impressive ability to remember information keeps his grades high, at a range where Stan has to work tirelessly to maintain his own.

Still, something calms in him when they get to Richie’s old truck and Stan slides in behind the wheel. The further they are from the rest of their peers, the better.

Richie manhandles Eddie into the center of the bench seat and then slides in after him and Eddie immediately curls into his side. “Don’t take me home,” he immediately pleads, “My mom, she’ll do something crazy like lock me in my room, _please_.”

“ _No,_ ” Richie says quickly. “No fucking way I’m letting that fucking bitch get her hands on you. We can go to the clubhouse, or mine? Anything, it doesn’t matter, but I’m not taking you to her.”

“Clubhouse,” Eddie decides, because it’s where they all feel the least anxious, and Stan starts the car.

Stan drives faster than one would expect, which Richie finds hilarious most days, but today he’s nothing but thankful as Stan peels out of the lot and towards the outskirts of town.

Richie’s going out of his goddamn mind.

Eddie smells so fucking good—he has since Richie first walked in the room, all warm and inviting and lush, and fuck, Richie’s so pent up from watching them together, dick throbbing pathetically in his boxers.

He’s so enveloped in his own horniness that when Eddie makes a quiet noise, it makes him startle.

He turns sharp eyes on Eddie, looking over him carefully.

“I-it’s,” Eddie stammers, shifts his hips uncomfortably, his nose scrunching up and cheeks warming in something that takes Richie a moment to recognize as embarrassment. “It’s, umm…” he trails off, wordlessly reaching for Richie instead, tangling his fingers in the soft cotton of the black band shirt he’s got on under his ridiculous button-up.

Stan glances off the empty fucking country road—Derry’s full of those, pretty as a picture and constantly devoid of people, thankfully. Eddie’s frowning up at Richie, his poor little face so fucking red.

Richie fills in. “Again?” he asks, and Eddie just nods miserably.

“Please,” he says lowly, voice trembling as Richie reaches for his hips, undoes the seatbelt and starts pulling Eddie into his lap.

“This is such a hazard,” Eddie mumbles, but straddles Richie’s lap anyways, arms slinking around his broad shoulders. “If we crash, I could go through the goddamn windshield.”

“Don’t crash, Stanley.”

“Wow, thanks, Richie. Real helpful,” Stan can’t help but rolls his eyes a little, trying to focus on the road instead of the way Eddie’s breath catches when Richie slips a hand between them and fiddles with the button of his jeans. “But I’m going 40 in an empty street in _Derry_.”

Richie doesn’t answer him, and Stan glances over again curiously. Richie’s sliding a hand into the loosened waistband of his jeans, palming his ass.

“Oh, _Eddie_ ,” Richie breathes then, and it’s so soft, not condescending or anything, just quiet and awed. It makes something in Stan’s stomach pulse warm, low between his hips. And fuck, he definitely can _not_ get hard right now, he just had the most earth-shattering orgasm of his life literally fifteen minutes ago and his tailbone still aches dully from how roughly Richie had fucked him on his fingers, there’s absolutely _no_ way—

Except Richie’s voice sinks lower into a growl, and Stan sees the tendons in his forearm flex from the movement of his fingers when he says, “ _Fuck_ , Eds, you’re leaking Stan’s fucking load all over yourself, so fucking _wet_ ,” and rubs his fingers over Eddie’s slick, sloppy hole. Stan’s breath catches over the noise Eddie makes, embarrassed and soft, hands so tight on the wheel that his slender fingers ache.

“ _Please_ , Rich,” Eddie mewls, and rocks back against Richie’s fingers frantically, clutching at his biceps. There’s an edge of desperation in his voice pitching it high and a little shaky, a quality that make Stan and Richie both sit up straighter, like a weird kind of biological urge to calm him. “I tried so hard but I c-can’t wait, I need it _now_ , Richie, I need you!”

“I—fuck, Eddie, in the car?”

Richie rubs his thumb in small tight circles over Eddie’s hole, feeling the way Stan’s cum drips in thick warm pulses against his knuckles, and Eddie presses back against the pressure, so needy for something inside him. Fuck. Shit. Richie’s dick is going to explode.

Eddie manages to give him that bitchy look, even with his eyes wet and his cheeks red, even when he’s gagging for it, and he presses his sweet little mouth to the underside of Richie’s jaw and murmurs, “Yeah, Rich. In the car. Outside. On the fucking ground, I don’t care, just fuck me, please.”

Eddie rocks his hips forward, rubbing his cock against Richie’s belly, and he’s already fucking leaking, just from Richie playing with his hole, precum beading slippery and clear at the tip of his little pink cock.

“So fucking cute,” Richie can’t help but croon, “So desperate for it, baby,” because he fucking _loves_ Eddie’s dick, loves getting his mouth around it, the way it fits so perfectly right against the back of his throat, how it makes his jaw sore from how often he likes to draw it out, sucking Eddie’s cock for ages, slow and deliberately teasing, sucking wet over his balls and thumbing over his hole, until Eddie finally gets impatient and asks to fuck his mouth.

He wraps his long fingers around Eddie’s dick and strokes him off a couple times, and Eddie shift his hips up, chasing the feeling, his thighs tensing. He’s got his brows pinched together in a frown, and he says, a little bitchy and so very _Eddie_ that Richie has to suppress a laugh, “Hurry _up_ , Rich, get my pants off.”

He grapples with Eddie’s jeans, and it’s a more difficult task than he’d like to admit, given the limited space in the truck, but he manages, not bothering with the sweater this time. He only gets his own dark jeans down his thighs enough to free his dick and move the serrated zipper low down his thighs so that it won’t bother Eddie bouncing on his cock in his lap.

Richie’s dick hasn’t exactly been soft. Not while fingering Stan, and certainly not listening to Eddie get fucked, and that culminates in him already being embarrassingly ready to go, his big cock thick and curved towards his belly and flagging under its own weight. Eddie whines in his throat and reaches for it immediately, curling his skinny fingers around it.

He lifts his hips automatically, scrambling up to line Richie’s dick with his ass, and then Richie’s dick is slipping up the cleft of Eddie’s ass, dragging through the slick and cum that’s dripping out of him.

Eddie’s still all sloppy from the thorough fucking Stan had given him, and when Richie’s fat cock presses to the pink pucker of his hole, it only takes Eddie dropping his hips for him to stretch himself wide again around Richie’s dick, the excruciating drag and burn of it knocking Eddie’s breath from his lungs.

Richie’s done this a million times, since Eddie first presented and they first got together, but somehow, incredulously, Eddie’s always so fucking _good_ , so tight and slick around him. Richie slides in slow, and it feels like sliding home, as he bottoms out and presses his cock fully into Eddie’s tight little ass.

Eddie moans, and it sounds almost relieved, his eyelids fluttering shut as he rocks his ass gently in Richie’s lap, so full that his legs tremble.

“That’s good, huh?” Richie praises lowly, “So good, Eddie, you take my cock so fucking well, babe. Look at Stan, honey, tell him how good it feels.”

Eddie immediately starts blabbering, “It f-feels so good, Stan, you guys feel so fucking _g-good_ , I wanna—wanna take both of you, please,” and Richie’s worked in a finger or two beside his dick before, when Eddie’s in the middle of his heat and really desperate for it, begging for more no matter what Richie gives him, but now the idea’s in his head: working Eddie open until his slick, soft ass can take both Stan and Richie’s dicks at once, his little rim stretched nearly to its limits, struggling to keep still while Richie and Stan figure out how they’re going to move.

It’s just a fantasy, but the intensity of it has Richie’s dick twitching where it’s curved inside Eddie like a fucking brand, so hot and insistent. He can’t breathe save for shallow unsteady pants, can’t do anything but feel Richie’s dick, all the way in his goddamn _stomach_.

“Next time, doll,” Richie promises, and takes Eddie’s hips, grinds up slow into him. “Get you all nice and open around my cock and fingers for it.”

Eddie’s shaking a little, bouncing on his cock as best he can, and Richie takes his hips automatically, lifts him like a fucking ragdoll, and Eddie whimpers at being manhandled by Richie’s rough hands. He clings tightly to Richie’s shoulders, burying his face in his alpha’s neck as Richie pulls him down onto his cock roughly, hangs on as Richie starts fucking him harder.

Richie’s going out of his mind by the time Stan pulls into the stretch of dirt road hidden by some trees that they’re prone to leaving his car in when they come out here, and Richie tips his head back against the seat, lets it roll to the side to watch Stan twist off the ignition with shaking hands.

“C’mere,” he tells him, and Stan doesn’t have to told twice, fumbling with the seatbelt and crawling across the bench seat a second later, presses an eager mouth to Richie’s bared throat and sucks a bruise there, slow and wet.

His fingers dig so tight into Eddie’s hips that Richie’s sure there will be faint bruises there tomorrow, and he adjusts, curls his hands over Eddie’s ass instead, and Eddie whines against his shoulder, pressing back against his palms instinctively.

Eddie gets so goddamn wet, his slick rolling in fat drops down Richie’s cock, pooling at his hips when Richie lifts him nearly all the way off his dick, and Eddie sobs, tries to fuck down against him and cries when Richie doesn’t let him, holding him still, “ _Stop_ , Rich, I need to—to fucking c _um_ , please!”

And Richie’s not mean most days, but Stan’s watching with wide mystified hazel eyes, and shit, Richie is nothing if not good at putting on a show. He keeps Eddie just like that for another moment, feels his ass clench like it’s trying its best to just suck Richie back into that tight, velvety warmth, and when Richie finally lets Eddie’s hips drop back down, it’s so sleek, so wet around him that Richie can’t help but echo the moan that bubbles from Eddie’s mouth.

Richie’s brain is about ready to melt out his dick when Eddie starts riding him in earnest, bouncing frantically on his cock and trying to stroke his leaking cock at the same time with a shaky hand between them. Richie wants to reach down and help, but he’d have to move his hands from Eddie’s ass and slow down, and he’s fairly sure that Eddie would bite the shit out of him if he even tried.

Stan—the absolute angel, god, Richie loves how he always seems to be able to read Richie’s mind with no effort at all— gives Eddie a peck on the cheek and reaches down between them. He bats Eddie’s wrist away and slips his own slender fingers around Eddie’s pink glistening cock, jerking him off with steady long strokes.

Eddie cries in surprise, “ _O-oh_ , f- _uhh-ck, S_ tan!” His head tips back to bare his throat instinctively, and Riche’s gums fucking _ache_ from how bad he wants to bury his teeth in the nape of Eddie’s neck, to sink his canines into the source of that lush sweet scent that Eddie’s putting out like a beacon. He can’t—Sonia, that stupid fucking bitch, would have a cow and _really_ never let Eddie out again—but he settles for nuzzling into Eddie’s throat and pressing openmouthed kisses there, grazing his teeth over sun-golden skin, and Eddie gives this full body shiver in his lap, fists tightening where they’re tangled into the back of Richie’s shirt. He makes a choked off voice and gasps, “ _Richie_ —”

“Got you, baby,” Richie rambles, because his own body’s right on the edge too, his balls fucking aching _,_ it’s like he can feel his heartbeat in his dick, and he can’t stop running his mouth for shit whenever he’s got Eddie like this, flushed and beautiful and squirming on his cock. “I love you so much, Eddie, you’re so good, so fucking perfect for me. Love making you feel good, cum for me, sweetheart.”

Stan’s the opposite—he leans forward, quietly presses a soft, closemouthed kiss to the underside of the curve of Eddie’s jaw, and twists his wrist just a little every time he drags his fist up Eddie’s slick cock, and Richie snaps his hips up, grinds his dick deep and slow into Eddie’s wet little hole, and then Eddie cums.

He makes a noise like a sob, clinging tight to Richie as his dick spurts messily between Stan’s fingers, his ass clamping down tight around Richie’s thick cock, and when his puffy little mouth gasps open, Richie leans forward and seals their mouths together, kisses him sloppy and urgent, rutting his hips up against Eddie’s plush ass with hard, desperate thrusts, long fingers gripping so tight that Eddie’s got red marks blooming along the soft curve.

Eddie goes boneless against him, the wetness in his eyes finally spilling over onto his cheeks, and he cries against Richie’s mouth, “Inside me, _please_ , Rich, in—oh _shit,_ f-fuck, you’re fucking me so h-hard,” he stammers over the words, voice hiccupping every time. “So good, I—I _want_ you, Rich, please?”

It’s Eddie asking so sweet that makes Richie growl and bury his face in Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer and snapping his hips up, fucking him hard and brutal, and Eddie’s sloppy hole keeps clenching around him so warm with slick, trying so desperately to keep him inside. He grinds up, holding Eddie’s narrow hips down, and his orgasm rams into him so fucking hard and sudden that it makes Richie breathless as his dick pulses deep in Eddie’s ass.

Eddie arches against him, gasps when he feels Richie’s cum spread warm inside him, his hands shooting down to press flat over his belly, dark eyes going just a little hazy with the feeling as he lets out a shaky quiet moan, and Richie mumbles against his throat, “shit, Eddie, love you, love you so fucking much.”

Eddie makes a quiet pleased hum, rakes his fingers through Richie’s messy hair, the dark curls parting for his hand when he strokes Richie like a cat and slides gently off his dick, towards Stan, who takes his hand and helps him.

“Oh,” Eddie murmurs, still a little dick-stupid and dazed, as his hole clenches around nothing, Richie’s cum rolling startlingly hot down his thigh.

Richie bites his lip, his breath still a little uneven, the soft pink blush still on his cheeks. He stares at the way Eddie’s leaking, his poor little hole all red and puffy and fucked out, Richie’s load dripping thick down the line of his balls. Eddie grimaces, twists a little to look at Stan across the seat.

“Do you still have those wipes?” he asks, and despite his debauched appearance, all blueberry knees and flushed chest, slick with sweat and cum, there’s a lull in the jitteriness that had him all riled up now, and he’s. Well. Not calm. Back to regular Eddie levels of jumpy, at least.

While Stan goes digging for his wet wipes again, Richie stretches gingerly, peeling his back off the seat and setting his clothes back in place.

Eddie sighs forlornly after he’s done cleaning himself up, as they climb out of the truck and actually start making their way through the woods towards the clubhouse.

“What is it?” Stanley asks, falling into step beside him in the underbrush. Eddie’s legs are still a bit wobbly, and though none of them mention it out loud, he’ll slip his hand into the crook of Stan or Richie’s elbows over the rougher parts of the terrain.

“Thinking about how I’m going to have to go home later,” Eddie frowns. “You know how my mom is about my heat, keeping me in bed for days.”

“Fucking _sucks_ ,” Richie says emphatically. “It’s getting harder to climb that goddamn lattice the bigger I get. One of these days I’m just going to fall climbing out and Mrs. K’s going to find me half dead in the garden one morning.”

“At least you only have to spend a couple more here,” Stan reminds him. “Once we graduate and get out of here, you’ll never have to spend another heat with her.”

Eddie gives him a weak smile. “I hope so,” he says softly, reaching out and taking Stan’s hand.

On his other side, Richie takes his other hand, mouth set in a stubborn, serious line. “I promise, Eds,” he says, eyes soft. “We can spend all your heats together, then.”

They reach the clubhouse entrance then. Eddie’s always thought of the future as an overwhelming uncertain thing, but Richie smiles soft and Stan gives him a fond look as Eddie scrambles down the ladder last, still a little clumsy, and something warm blooms inside him. Maybe everything will be okay after all, if he has Richie and the other Losers to take care of him.

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi!](https://twitter.com/toziercock)
> 
> this is definitely a oneshot but tbh every a/b/o clown fic ive written reads like one long au so if you enjoyed this... [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744905/chapters/65920255) is technically the same universe if you want more context


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